Sometimes, in the balance between our world and the other, I find myself next to the
moon. She likes to peer through the curtains and coax herself into the silver lining of my dreams.
When I’m with her, swinging in some place above, I find she doesn’t talk much. She only
worries.
“My children…” She frets. Her sweet face is marred with grief.
Her children, the stars, are growing quiet. In the future, they will be snuffed and wink out,
one by one. Then the moon will quiver alone in the night, shooting luminous stars as she cries,
and glowing with all her might so that people on Earth might still feel her fierce loyalty. I tell her
the people will brighten their hearts in starless nights. She must look down as they cast warm,
floating pieces of light upward.
“What are they?”
Memories, I reply. Silver, fleeting memory. In every moment of their lives, you are there.
“Will you do the same?” She asks, reaching for me, pulling me close.
When that moment arrives upon us, I say, I will give all of myself, for you are my dearest
friend.